


Adrenaline

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adrenaline, Beating, Captivity, Dean Winchester Whump, Drugs, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Illnesses, Injury, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Whump, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting, Whipping, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 20:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Dean is captured and used for an underground demonic fighting ring.





	Adrenaline

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 13 of Whumptober 2019.  
Prompt: adrenaline

The first time Dean got injected with the adrenaline he had no adverse effects. Instead it made him feel alive, his blood pumping through him, air filling his lungs till he lived and breathed the fight. The vampire he’d faced down hadn’t stood a chance. And neither had one of the demons who’d tried putting him back in his cell afterward. Dean had grabbed him by the neck, snapped it, bone poking out, but the guy had still been fighting and he’d had to bite his ear off. It’d made him back off, but more guards had overwhelmed him.

They’d gotten him down, injected him with something else, something that had left him feeling woozy, and they’d dragged him back to his cell.

The second time he’d fought he’d sweated more than usual, tremors had run throughout his body, and he kept trying to look over his shoulder, a deep fear in him making the hair on the back of his neck rise, telling him someone was watching him.

Of course someone was watching him.

Demons were. Hundreds of demons. He’d been captured and put in a fighting ring.

And where was Sam?

Each day he’d ask about Sam, try to look for Sam, but any attempts at escape were met with beatings, whippings, and then they’d give him some pills to ease the pain. He figured they were too many pills, and sometimes he recognized the shape or the bitter flavor, but he could handle it. He’d had worse. He wasn’t in Hell.

Not yet.

It seemed to go on for weeks, Dean growing weaker, yearning for the pills, for the adrenaline to make him feel stronger even as it beat fear into his blood and left him with awful headaches, and even sometimes left him curled up in the corner of his cell for hours, vomiting. 

A new day and he was shoved out into the ring, ears hurting from hundreds of screaming voices, and his chest ached when he saw the scruffy, but familiar man standing across from him, his body trembling, sweat pouring down the sides of his face and beading on his forehead, breaths fast and shallow, pupils enlarged in his hazel eyes: Sam.

Dean turned back to the demons that were retreating down the tunnel he’d been led through.

“You really think I’m gonna—”

He was silenced as a demon from up above, standing by an ornate chair of bone cracked a whip braided with barbed wire. He and that particular whip had grown acquainted recently. Out of the corner of his eye Sam flinched, and he saw that his brother was familiar with it as well.

“Yes,” the demon affirmed. “Both of you will attack the other, and only one walks out.”

Dean looked back at Sam, tears forming in his eyes.

“No.” Now he looked back to the demon, saw him caressing the leather. “No, I ain’t gonna do it.”

“You will. The reward is no more fighting. Wouldn’t you like that? No more injections.”

Dean lowered his head, thinking about it. He glanced over at Sam to see he was doing the same. God, to think they were both on a leash like this.

Dean didn’t even want to consider this, but he was. Would he really give up the adrenaline? Part of him craved it now, loved the feeling of strength, of having his blood pumping, but he knew it was making him sick, that surely it was killing him. Day by day he felt weaker, could sense a poison in his blood. It was hard to breathe, hard to move, his chest hurt…

Giving up the adrenaline. He could do it.

But killing Sam to save himself. That he couldn’t do. But would he let himself die knowing his blood would be on Sam’s hands, that Sam would suffer like that?

Dean looked at his brother, met him right in the eye, and he knew what he had to do.

“One more shot!” he cried out. “If me or him are goin’ out, let’s do this right.”

The demon leading this all laughed, pleased. Grates creaked, pulling up, and Dean took a step forward with his left leg, showing which thigh he’d prefer to be injected with. Sam swallowed roughly, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, but then he did the same thing.

His eyes spoke to him, panicked, _Dean, what are you doing?_

_Don’t worry, baby brother. I got this._

Demons came out, holding them steady as they were each given another shot of adrenaline, the syringe filled to the brim with the liquid. It ached as it was none too kindly jammed into the muscle, and he closed his eyes, breath catching in his throat as it felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. Sam inhaled deeply and rather quickly, surely having the same reaction. His blood pumped fiercely through him, air coming in and out at too quick a rate, making him light-headed. Colors were blending together in his vision.

“More. Give me more!” he growled.

Demons approached with another syringe, and they were going towards Sam now. He shook his head, baring his teeth and hoping he now looked like he was snarling at his brother as he curled his fists, muscles bulging.

“Not to him. Just me.”

“Oh, we have a fighter,” the lead demon commented.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam cried.

He was injected again, and he screamed.

Pounding started up in his neck and ears, pain, and goosebumps rose up on his skin as a chill ran through him. Dean tried to take a step forward, to go to Sam, to make it look like he was complying, but his vision blurred, and then he was on the ground, body going numb.

Demons kicked at him, and he thought maybe his brother tried running over to him, but he was tackled down to the filthy ground.

The last thing Dean was aware of was a boot digging into his side, and the thought that he’d gotten Sam out of this, that Sam wouldn’t have to kill him.

Dean was curled up on his left side and throwing up before he even opened his eyes. There was a hand slapping his back, and then gripping his hair.

A voice snarled in his ear, “Ever think of dying on us again and we’ll give you that, but _nice and slow_ so your brother can watch. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

Dean’s stomach heaved again, and he coughed, bile burning his throat. Fear shook through his body, and he was allowed to lay his head back down. His chest ached as though someone had been pounding on it, and the more he breathed the more he thought maybe he had a broken rib.

So cardiac arrest. That hadn’t worked.

What would then?

Would he just have to wait for the slow death more adrenaline would give him? Could he do that?

A tear trailed down Dean’s face, and he realized he didn’t know.


End file.
